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In the footsteps of the walking air

In the footsteps of the walking air
Sky's prophetic chickens weave their cloth of awe
And hillsides lift green wings in somber journeying.

Night in his soft haste bumps on the shoulders of the abyss
And a single drop of dark blood covers the earth.

Now is the China of the spirit at walking
In my reaches.
A sable organ sounds in my gathered will
And love's inscrutable skeleton sings.

My seeing moves under a vegetable shroud
And dead forests stand where once Mary stood.

Sullen stone dogs wait in the groves of water…
Though the wanderer drown, his welfare is as a fire
That burns at the bottom of the sea, warming
Unknown roads for sleep to walk upon.

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Comments

  • S A Adelmann
    May 18, 2004
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    I sure wish I had a recording like Old Mole. But, maybe I am better served with my personal rhythm applied to these very cool words. Many years ago, when my poetry was still mostly inside me and unable to find words, a student teacher compared my work to Kenneth Patchen. I feel honored and somewhat embarrassed by the comparison - embarrassed because my poetry has never reached the complexity of Patchen's. The imagery, concrete and tangible, is amazing to me. I can only hope to one day achieve something that is a shadow of his free verse.

    Scott

  • Old Mole
    August 14, 2003
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    This brilliant poem by Patchen, with it’s vivid references to “somber journeying...sable organ...vegetable shroud,” has the feel of a dirge. Yet, it ultimately seems to be about the perseverance of the spirit (walking air) which inexplicably “burns at the bottom of the sea.”

    Patchen’s imagery is unique in that it goes beyond mere description or comparison to create self-contained nuggets of an enhanced reality that rely on association rather than literal meaning. Not afraid to use an adjective or two, he accomplishes this enhancement through a liberal use of them. Take note of lines like “single drop of dark blood’ or “Sullen stone dogs.”

    Patchen achieves a natural rhythm in his verse without the contrivance of meter. I am fortunate to have a recording of Patchen reading his poems. The sound is as if he exhales the words as he breathes rather than speaks them.